


Impulse Control

by skerb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Sans/Underfell Sans (Undertale), Self-Denial, Self-Indulgent, Sensitive bones, Teasing, Underfell Sans (Undertale), Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: Sans has always had a thing about forming a 🍑, blaming the trick coin in his head. So when Red tries to coax it out of him, he desperately aims for something else...
Relationships: Kustard, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 188





	Impulse Control

Though he won’t admit it, there’s something inherently satisfying when Red takes control. Especially when he’s in one of his better moods, which usually means horny doom for Sans, and in all likelihood for him to be a teasing prick about it too.

But now, Red hangs over him in his bed, a comforting weight, kissing him slow and hot. It takes Sans apart bit by bit, until every kiss extracts breaths from him in small gusts, and Sans can’t help the hushed grunts and soft moans when Red exacts revenge on him in the form of long and slow makeouts.

They don’t do this often. Red doesn’t respond to it much, escalating to bodily exploration until he makes Sans groan in other ways. This time, he’s content to tease him at length. Probably to get Sans all hot and bothered.

In addition, he’s barely ran his mouth, not like Sans doesn’t expect him to start, but the threat of it sticks at the back of his brain, a slight tension in his back when Red impatiently huffs out.

Eventually, his hand finds Sans’ hip. Sans’ body responds like Red’s fingers are charged with electricity, and Red hums approvingly into his mouth as he tastes him.

“Wanna see if I c’n make you come like this?” Red breathes against his jaw. He twists his arm down to get a better reach, and Sans’ mind hazes over as it struggles with the first sparks of rebuttal. “Mind, I really wanna eat you out,” he adds, his voice husky.

Something sparks to life in Sans’ head. He cracks a grin between short kisses, his body hot beneath Red’s roving hand. It glides over the crest of his hip, sending tingles to curl around the base of his spine.

“If you’re so hungry, get a sandwich,” he mumbles, leaning into another hot kiss. He hisses into it, rolling his pelvis back away from Red’s hand.

“Hot,” Red chuckles. His voice makes Sans shudder as he teethes his jaw, and Sans’ fingers find the hem of his shirt. Suddenly, Sans really wants to explore all of Red’s scars one by one. “Just… like…”

Sans inhales sharply when Red’s fingers crook between the fabric of his shorts, sliding down the slope of his pubic symphysis.

“Bingo,” Red snickers. “Pent up?”

Sans scoffs a little indignantly, instead sounding more impatient. “Nope.”

Red’s eyes glint mischievously. Sans’ magic coils around his index finger, following the movement like Red means to coax his clit into form. He shoves the sensation away, not ready to fold despite the pleasure that builds.

“Then I’m doin’ you dirty, sweetheart,” Red says thoughtfully. A scalding blush rips up Sans’ throat as the double-entendre hits him. Suddenly, his hands seem very, very interested in holding on for the ride. “Feel good?”

“Eh.” The breathiness of Sans’ reply undercuts some of the feigned nonchalance. It actually feels amazing, but like hell is he gonna switch gears on them. He’s content to make out a little more, get Red as riled up as he is. “It’s not t.. terrible.”

“‘T’ terrible, eh?” Sans flushes a little more with Red’s knowing tone, his hands curling fists into his boyfriend’s t-shirt. “That a complaint?”

Sans attempts something close to a calming sigh, but it echoes between Red’s fingers. His magic is on the verge of coalescing, thick and hot. Red toys with it a little as soft wisps tickle his fingers, yearning for his touch.

“Nope,” Sans mumbles, not thinking straight. His body likes the little teases, but he gets squirmy if he’s the centre of attention for too long.

Red purrs low in his throat, eliciting another prickle of shivers up Sans’ spine.

“Been awhile since I tasted you,” he continues noncommittally, like he’s reading off programmes from the TV Guide for consideration. Sans pulls his magic back just as Red’s hand lowers to cup the arch of his pubic inlet. It almost feels like it’s enough to provoke his magic to drop into place.

Sans knows what’ll happen. He’s got no control. He’s not Red, who can form just about anything from a rubik’s cube to a wisteria vine with his junk. He tends to settle on whatever happens to show up, a coin that lands on ‘pussy’ more often than ‘dick’. So often, that Sans is starting to think that what he uses in his head is a trick coin.

His magic doesn’t form anything solid. He can keep it at bay. Red can read him, can see how much he wants to fold and lets his fingers slip into him. What it does is create an intangible friction and idle coastings of light that want to surround Red’s fingers.

“Whaddaya say, sweetheart?” Red murmurs, a hint of a plea in his rich, husky voice. “Wanna treat me?”

Fuck. Fuck that fucking cheater, wow. Sans swallows, realising that he hasn’t acknowledged Red’s offer for the sole reason that he’s focusing so hard on _not_ allowing something to form. He knows it’ll be a pussy. And for some reason, he needs to play stubborn mule about the whole thing. If anything else shows up, fine, fair game. But Red…

Red has a way of getting him to fold. His kisses are intoxicatingly sweet, heady like fine liquor, as savoury as a rich dessert. He smells like fresh tobacco and when Sans kisses him, he tastes just as tart. He’s so smooth he can talk the pants off a store mannequin. That mental image startles Sans into a soft laugh, breaking his concentration. His magic presses down to fill his pubis, seaming up the voids and starting to surround Red’s fingers.

Fuck, he’s losing.

“I dunno,” Sans belatedly mumbles. His voice is a lot more shivery than he means to be. He sees the sharp grin at the corner of Red’s teeth as he pushes his hand a little lower, rubbing the back of his pubic symphysis with his middle finger. Sans can’t not let out a strangled sound. Like an old muscle, Sans’ ambient magic flows in a jerky spasm. Taking the hint, Red withdraws his fingers and brings them up to his mouth.

“C’n manage this just fine,” Red notes, sounding pleased as punch. There’s no fluid on his phalanges, but the way Red laves his ruby red tongue around the two fingers has heat shooting straight down to Sans’ pelvis. The sound he makes is visceral, self-satisfaction reflected in its timbre. “Fuck, sweetheart. Just lemme have a taste.”

Sans doesn’t say no. If he wants him off, he’ll elbow Red in the ribs. But he doesn’t, instead conveying with his body that yes, please, _keep going like that._

After all the time they’ve spent together, Red reads Sans loud and clear like a favourite book. He dips his hand down Sans’ shorts again, his fingers wet with saliva, slickening the dip of Sans’ pubis. Involuntarily, Sans’ knees jerk up, cinched against Red’s forearm. Red just laughs, but it’s cradled deep against Sans’ throat.

 _“Really_ wound up,” he murmurs, and Sans can feel his mouth against his cervical spine. “Gonna play hard t’get, Sansy? Gonna edge yourself just for me?” He pauses to delicately set his pointy teeth against Sans’ throat. Considers it, then just gives him a soft kiss. The threat mingled with the gentle action has Sans’ libido kindling like embers in dry grass.

The glide of Red’s fingers is made easier with his spit, tauntingly circling at the apex of Sans’ pubic symphysis in long, lazy strokes. Sans’ breath shivers out as the pleasure builds, his magic angry and hot the longer he holds it back. He can feel how much it wants to form, how needy he is when two of Red’s fingers slide down the arch and dip inside his inlet from below. Beyond his control, his toes curl.

“There ya go,” Red goads as he moves. “You’re hangin’ onto me real tight, babe.”

“Making sure you don’t decide to, uh-” Sans squinches his eyes shut, betrayed by the misfire in his brain. Involuntarily, he slides his foot up, bent at the knee. It opens his pelvis up to Red’s touch. “To…”

Red’s laugh is heady, triumphant and pleased. “Two..? You got ‘two’ already, sweetheart. Or are y’sayin’ you want two more?” Carefully, he sinks down so he’s got enough reach to cup Sans’ pelvic inlet, stroking the inside with his rough fingertips. Sans sucks a hiss through clenched teeth as his magic attempts to settle into place. His hold on the collar loosens. “Why you tryin’ so hard, mm? Don’t want me to win?”

Red knows him so well that it actually startles Sans sometimes. Sans holds back a groan, the tail end of his sigh nearly audible as his fists clutch Red’s shirt for dear life.

“You never win. You just-” Sans stops and digs his heel into the mattress. “You just take your time losing.”

Red laughs, delighted. “That right, honey?”

Helplessly, Sans nods slightly, huffing out when Red finally, achingly, removes his fingers from his pelvis. It leaves him flushed and anxious, needy and a little wild-eyed. Now that he’s not subject to persistent pleasure, his magic is easier to control. It still roils around down his spine, snapping angrily at the insides of his marrow, but it calms just a fraction of a degree.

Red slips his hand from his shorts and gives the waistband a slight tug, snapping the elastic against Sans’ hip with a leer. Sans smirks slightly, breathless and lightheaded from all the attention.

“You look a bit flushed there, Sansy,” Red croons, all mock sympathy. “Lemme help you outta these.”

It’s hard to argue with such an offer, so Sans doesn’t. He lifts his hips a little in an effort to be helpful as Red slides both of his warm hands down his hips, hooking his thumbs into his waistband to pull them down. Sans belatedly remembers how hard he’s clutching to his counterpart’s shirt and lets go, his fingers twinging with the loss of pressure.

Red follows the curve of his iliac crest with his fingers and traces down the backs of Sans’ femurs as he slides the shorts down his legs. Sans grunts out a warning when Red kisses the crest of his hip, his pubic symphysis giving a yearning throb. It threatens to take shape, to form something that will ultimately be his undoing.

Red is patient, but he’s still an asshole. He jerks Sans’ shorts down to his ankles and settles himself between his legs, making himself comfortable even as Sans gasps out an indignant _dude, what the fuck._ It pins Sans’ legs at such an angle that makes it difficult to squirm, leaving him open and splayed around Red’s shoulders.

Red puts his mouth on him. It’s still all bone, but it drags a startled moan from Sans anyway. He shoves a hand down to Red’s skull in an attempt to both push him away and pull him forward. His tongue laves against bone, getting well-acquainted with Sans’ flushed pubis.

Sans swears again, of two minds to try to kick and another to tilt his head back so Red can’t read whatever expression is on his face. His fingers latch into the sheet, onto Red’s shoulder, gripping as hard as he can. Somehow, he forces his magic to still, but it’s under pressure like a nuclear bomb ready to blow.

The only reason why he’s resisting is out of spite. If truth be told, Sans loves Red’s mouth, his taste, the building pressure before the final crash. His legs tremble as he brackets Red in, flinching with every lick as Red expertly finds all the soft curves and hidden areas he favours most.

Like all other times, Sans holds back his pleasure, sucking in calming breaths as not to make any noise. Red appreciates feedback, but Sans knows there’s something about the way he falls apart that Red loves, winning his vocalisations by pulling them out of him, one quiver and shout at a time.

The pleasure builds as his magic reacts to it. Red’s tongue is heavy, flicking against his pubis as it heats up. Sans digs his fingers into Red’s shoulder, giving up trying to school his expression and clenching his eyes tight. There’s a small bubble forming, whether or not it’s his magic or his pussy actually falling into place, Sans can’t say. It presses into his pubic symphysis, aching, needy, as Red pushes his fingers into the inlet again like he means to prepare himself for his dick.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he gasps against his pelvis, and Sans nearly whimpers. “Denying yourself and what you want blocks your inherent right to control what’s yours.”

“Yeah, ok, Socrates.”

He can feel Red grin a little more. “Call it whatever; you got a hard time admitting what you want.”

That’s calling the pot black, Sans blearily thinks at the ceiling. The beginning of his retort aims for snarky, but he drowns fast when Red closes his mouth over his flushed and sensitive pubis.

Sans has to prevent himself from jerking up against Red’s sharp teeth. Even flustered, as desperate as he is, the last thing he needs to see is Red choking on a cloud of dust as he kicks it.

Red groans against him, making Sans see stars as his voice carries down the voids of his ischiums. Words fail him, slipping from his grasp as Red pushes his tongue against him, swirling on the spot as though to coax out his clit. Sans can nearly feel it. He’s coming undone, can feel the start of the little nub begin to form under the slick heat of Red’s tongue.

Sans’ entire body clenches down, his moans a little higher than he means to be. Self-conscious, he flushes as Red grasps his hips in both his hands, humming against bone so that Sans feels it vibrate inside of him. His fate is decided when Red curls his tongue against where his clit would be, sucking the spot in gentle bursts to encourage what he covets like a shiny new gem.

Sans decides in some desperate measure to flip the coin in his mind and let things flow. It’s a double-sided piece of silver that always lands on heads, but Sans prays for some kind of miracle. It’s stupid and pathetic, but if Red eases out any of his softer features, he’ll lord it over him for another agonising four months.

Graciously, the universe grants him favour. Then again, Sans’ magic has always had a mind of its own; he’s got no say in the matter. It bursts out of the dam he’s been building. First a tiny trickle, then pent up and angry, it floods out.

The coin in his mind lands on tails.

Red must detect the hot surge of magic before it even takes place; he rolls his head away in time as to not get a nasal aperture full of precum. His grin is as feral as ever, sharp and delighted for what Sans has kept under wraps. Sans feels flushed but dizzy, like every part of him flowed into the magic. His hips hurt a little from canting up at the last moment, a glistening bead at the tip of his cock dribbling down its chubby length.

He’s oddly proud of himself.

“Oh, Sansy,” Red says with minimal amounts of chastising. Sans huffs out something self-satisfied and half-deranged. For all the broken vowel sounds he makes, none of them are actual words. “You shouldn’t have…”

It isn’t said like a rebuke but more like he’s been presented with an unexpected gift, and it makes Sans burn for him all the more. His soul hammers as his boyfriend gets up to his knees, climbing over him to kiss him, slow and sweet. It makes shivers travel down Sans’ spine, quiet anxiousness soothed into a gentle desperation. Red rides his leg in little thrusts, so he angles it just right to feel Red’s magic rub against him.

A little awkwardly, Sans kicks off the rest of his shorts to get more comfortable. Then he pulls Red down by his collar, catching the front of his t-shirt at the same time, and kisses him fully, the taste of his bones fresh on Red’s tongue.

The steering wheel is jerked from his hands when Red reaches between them to palm Sans’ junk, spreading cyan precum down his cock and up to tease the tip. Sans has a hard time focusing on what his mouth should be doing when Red’s fingers work their magic on him, but he’s still a little shy to watch as it happens.

That leaves Red’s face, though Sans doesn’t look there either. His face hot, Sans groans as his shaft is gently pumped, soft, _deep_ motions rendering his breaths ragged.

Sans doubts that the offer to eat him out hasn’t left the table yet. Red leans down with an effortlessness of years of practise, the corner of his teeth quirked with an indulgent grin. Sans doesn’t often have a cock to play with; this is a treat Red will probably savour at length.

Sans grins a little at the mental joke and eases his grip on Red’s shoulder as he goes down. Red has a way with hiding his teeth for oral, padded by the flat of his tongue or by another way Sans hasn’t really figured out. Every time Red has his mouth on him, it’s lush and hot, soft where it shouldn’t be and just as hard as always.

Red wastes no time. Sans brackets Red’s skull with his hands as his cock is sheathed into that glorious heat, his hips trembling as he resists the urge to buck up to the hilt. There’s no doubt that Red would be into it, but Sans has a way of denying himself pleasure when or if he can help it. Some days, he doesn’t think he deserves it. Other days, he just wants to see Red have a good time.

Which is probably why he relaxes a little when Red cups one of his hands at the side of his skull, gently guiding Sans to hold on. His fingers skid across smooth bone, lightly scuffing the surface when Red hums around his length. Sans can’t help but make a noise, just as half-swallowed as his cock is. The broad face of Red’s tongue laps up the side of his shaft, teasing up to the tip again. Sans shudders as he tilts his head back, all heat and desperation beaming high on his cheekbones.

“Fuck…” he huffs again, appreciation swelling deep in his chest. Red replies with a knowing sound, agreeable as he pushes down on Sans’ cock. Sans tenses when he curls a fist around the base of it, a wet pop between them when he comes up for air.

“And it ain’t even my birthday,” Red says, all self-satisfied. Sans cracks open an eye and glances down at him. Red’s flushed himself, the backdrop behind his shirt a living, bright white. “Don’t worry, baby, I c’n work with this.”

Sans breathes a soft laugh. “Didn’t mean to throw you off your game,” he mumbles, his voice husked out. “Just wanted to make sure you got your practise-” He’s stopped short, bodily flinching inward as Red moves in and sucks the bead of precum from the tip of his cock, a little spasm of pleasure. “Fuck.”

“Yeah?” Red says, interest in his eyes. “What were you sayin’ about practise?”

“I mean,” Sans whispers out, a small heat kindling somewhere deep in his pelvis, coiled around the base of his spine. Red’s hand moves steadily against him, moving the false skin up around the collar of his dick and down again, lubing everything up with his cum. Sans shudders out a breath to regain some form of control and tries to restart his sentence. It takes a couple attempts. “I mean, you’re gettin’ rusty.”

Red probably knows it’s Sans’ brain misfiring, so that’s probably why he doesn’t comment. Sans sees him narrow his eyes. He doesn’t hide it; Sans knows that _Red_ knows it’s all teases and fun. He likes to feign a challenge just for the hell of it. If Red was ever honest for once in his damned life, it was in bed.

Red moves against Sans as though to coax the truth out of him. His breath is hot on Sans’ dick, his spit lubricating the way as he dips down again. Sans halts a noise in his throat as he feels Red’s skilled hands knead at his hips. It feels glorious in ways he can’t describe, a deep, satisfying hunger that beckons to be fed even as he’s swallowed down. His face beams with heat, flushed and ragged as Red’s mouth sucks him inside, pushing forward to get every last inch of him.

 _“Oh,”_ he groans from the bottom of his soul. He can feel it, nestled in deep and under calm waters, a needy thirst for affection that only Red can provide. He whimpers beyond his control, fingers splaying out in an effort not to fully grind himself up into that wet heat. His words shake out, honesty scattering forth like shattered glass. _“Your mouth, hnn-”_

Red hums like he knows, that he wants Sans to fuck his mouth and that Sans’ll like it. Carefully, as though to not startle him, Red’s fingers glide up the slope of his ischium, mapping out the roads and valleys of Sans’ body like a well-travelled but favoured path. He knows how to tear tiny strips away from Sans’ resolve like a wrapped present, a shiny, pretty thing he keeps all for himself.

Sans’ hips quiver when he makes an approving noise and Sans can feel his mouth move down and off him, only for his tongue to swirl around. He feels the tiny ball pierced into the flat of it, the curl of pleasure teasing a throbbing tension throughout his exposed magic.

He swears with a roll of his hips. Red’s mouth feels so _good,_ and Sans isn’t about to give in to the noises he keeps at bay. He kneads at the vertebrae just under Red’s jaw where it connects with his skull, testing the magic burning between his joints. As though seeking vengeance, Red trails his fingertips in a lazy figure-eight around the uppermost holes in Sans’ sacrum.

He drowns. For a moment, Sans just drifts along, his breaths coming higher and higher like the tides as Red moves. He’s so comfortable, the position just right. Sans angles his hips a little to dig his heel into the mattress and swallows back a moan when Red’s fingertip flirts with one of his foramina.

It’s almost too much. With his right hand, Sans reaches for the sheet under him, wrenching it up even as Red pulls him into his mouth until the tip of his cock pushes against the soft firmness of Red’s false throat. Combined with the building sensitivity in his body, the hotness of his magic and the ceaseless pleasure, Sans doesn’t know how much longer he can last or even if it’s worth holding back anymore.

The pillow at his side is close enough to grab onto. Sans twists his head to the right, trying with little luck not to give in to any myriad of gasps and huffs as Red’s skilled mouth works him over. It escalates, forcing his breaths out in even gasps, little gusts that are too loud for his own comfort, but the pleasure chases on. His thighs tremble so much, and groans start to break free, filling Sans with a need to bury them.

So he does. He inhales sharply before pulling the pillow up to cover his face, clinging it to his chest as he rolls his hips and groans freely into the plush fabric. It feels too good not to contribute, wanting nothing more than to use Red’s pretty mouth until he’s fucked senseless. The bright crushing tension in his body builds and builds upwards as Sans voices his appreciation into the pillow, unable to stop himself.

Red’s neck is warm under his touch. He can almost feel the magic work between his joints to accommodate him. Red swallows around the tip of his cock even as he pushes down, pinning Sans to the bed by his spine to overwhelm him entirely. He swallows in short little throbs, and Sans’ voice cracks and breaks out loud, just as Red reaches up and jerks the pillow away.

The resulting cry is the loudest he’s ever heard himself. Sans tries to scramble for the pillow as Red comes up, his breaths heavy on his pelvis. Sans looks down, blissed out but not finished. He’s as hard as he’s ever been, sensitive and wanting more.

“God, you look perfect,” Red murmurs. He hitches himself up to capture Sans’ mouth in a kiss. Sans can’t help the muted protest as he’s devoured, tasting himself on Red’s tongue.

He’s plied with an assertiveness that revs him up, Red moving him into his lap so they’re closer than before. He straddles Red’s hips with his legs, trembling as he’s brought so close. Red rocks against him. He’s just as wound up as Sans is.

“I want more of that. _Fuck,_ lemme hear it, sweetheart.”

Sans shudders, lighting up bright and flushed. He’s putty in Red’s hands, which sink low to encircle him. The strokes are tantalising and bring bright pulses of pleasure up his back, settling like shivers between his shoulder blades. Hazily, Sans makes the mistake of looking Red in the eyes.

He’s got nothing. Only pleasure, just a need, Red winding him up until the spring breaks and he spasms. He curls up into Red’s touch, looping an arm around Red’s neck to hold him close. Sans pushes his face against the side of Red’s skull, breathlessly groaning into his acoustic meatus. Red responds in kind.

He doesn’t have Red’s penchant for dirty talk. He still blushes a blue streak when Red gets _really_ filthy. He doesn’t recall any of the murmured praise Red whispers to him, but his hand is warm, familiar and firm, his tempo deliciously even. No matter how Sans fights himself, he can’t hold off for long. Soon, the air is filled with his breathy moans, the soft clack of their bodies moving together, and the creak of the mattress under them.

He twists under Red, his arms locked and his fists clinging tightly at his back. He’s quiet as he comes, but Red keeps going, dragging out groans as if they’re his by right. He purrs his approval as Sans’ voice _breaks,_ as his hands claw at him, nonsensical little words pleading with him. It’s a sensual, desperate chorus of _Red, Red, Red-_

Sans isn’t even sure if he’s got legs anymore. His arms feel as heavy as lead, still clutched into Red’s t-shirt like he expects him to pull away. The little pinpoints of light slowly bloom out of his vision, revealing a very self-satisfied, flushed skeleton hanging over him. He’s kissed by him, a tenderness he doesn’t expect but fully appreciates. Red shifts above him to hook a thumb into his waistband and tugs down his shorts. Sans helps as best as he’s able to, his joints all rubbery and loose from the endorphins.

Red has no patience when it comes to his turn. He resumes his previous position, hungry for more breathless kisses, and reaches between them once more. Sans’ voice catches and his spent cock gives a baleful twinge as it’s lazily, teasingly stroked.

Red’s eyes are closed as he hangs above him, all warm weight and something else. There’s a tick in his brow like Red’s deep in concentration as he slots their magics together. His cock feels warm and slickened by Sans’ cum, making it an easier glide. Sans manages to crack a grin and hitches up to one elbow, eager for more or to help. His brain can’t quite decide.

His hand finds the hot pulse in the small of Red’s spine when he leans down again, just close enough to reach. He has a way of fucking him up, like he loves to see Sans so beautifully broken with a dazed and pleasured fog in his eyes. Oversensitive, Sans watches Red’s hand move between them, on them, white-hot abrupt tension pooling inside of his soul to flood outward once more.

“C’mon-” Red groans in the thick of it. Sans nods, not knowing but understanding all the same. He rolls his hips up so his dick slides against Red’s, sheathed between his cock and his hand. The groan that comes from Red’s throat makes him shudder.

Sans can’t not make a sound. Every pass of Red’s cock over the tip of his own coaxes a soft, barely restrained hum from Sans’ throat. He’s easy, but it’s so good to see Red drown in pleasure himself. To see that his body makes Red lose control, to hear the profanities that drop from his mouth, the sweet, sweet pleas for him to take it, to come for him, to be sweet and lovely-

As Red slips that last word in, he spills, dizzyingly warm spurts dropping in hot droplets on and into Sans’ pelvis. Sans cants his hips as though to collect every drop, his back aching from the overwrought tension. He collapses back as Red pushes him down, curls up into him in a way that slots their bodies together like jigsaw pieces.

They’re a perfect fit. Sans grins to himself with that thought and slides his leg up to hook over Red’s thigh, pinning him in place.

“See?” he mumbles, his voice a little croaky from his restraint and final shattering. He’s blessedly warm with Red radiating heat like an overworked furnace. “Totally out of practise.”

Red snorts into his neck, but again, he doesn’t make a snarky comment. He tucks in, apparently content to lie on top of Sans for awhile. Sans doesn’t mind. He finds that he enjoys the subtle traces of Red’s fingers over his bones, reading his body like braille.

That’s ok. He can be Red’s favourite book, thoroughly enjoyed until the spine curls and the body wears down into something pliable in his hands.


End file.
